cation between the people, and hence the adoption of phrases and forms of speech. Now, that this book labours under this difficulty is not denied by even the most orthodox critics. Knobel has given a long list of the words, and, as we run them over, we see at once that the writer would hardly have used them in place of the old Hebrew words, unless the language had undergone a great change. Ewald, one of our finest Hebraists, says that "the Hebrew of this book is so strongly "penetrated with Aramaan, that not only single, but often-recurring words are entirely Aramæan; but the foreign influence is infused into the finest veins "of the language."* The same has been urged by other writers, and hence we may safely conclude that the book could not have been written until at least 400 years after the death of Solomon, in the time of the Captivity, when they spake as therein written. Unfortunately, however, an objection of this kind is not fairly estimated by the great mass of men. They believe in the authenticity of the Canon without any valid reason; and thus, being a matter of feeling or prejudice, they do not fairly weigh the facts which antagonise their ideas. And, as it happens, they can always refer to some divine, who has declared that "no reasonable man can doubt the point" then in dispute. Thus they feel that to them it must ever remain a matter to be decided by authority. In the end, of course, even in popular works, the truth will out, and there will be as many to quote on the one side as there now are upon the other. Even now all the learning is upon the side of rejection, as is proven by looking into the modern works upon the authenticity of the Canon. Instance the highly-praised treatise of Moses Stuart, a man who wrote his book upon the "Old Testament "Canon" in order to oppose the freethinking critics, and yet he was obliged to make very great concessions, which only strengthened the position of his chosen opponents. He says: "The diction of this book differs so widely from that of Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs, that it is difficult to believe they both came "from the same pen. Chaucer does not differ more from Pope than Ecclesiastes "from Proverbs. It seems to me, when I read Koheleth, that it presents one "of those cases which leave no room for doubt, so striking and prominent is the discrepancy. In our English translation this is, in some good measure, lost, by "running both books into the same English mould." This may be remarked of many other books in the collection, for in translation their peculiarities are wholly lost. Knobel, who is pronounced by Professor Noyes to be the author of the best critical essay upon this book, says: "No point in the criticisms of the Old "Testament is better established than that Ecclesiastes was not written by "Solomon, but in a later age." Noyes himself, who has given us new translations of all the poetical books, is also of the same opinion; and Professor Davidson, in his Introduction, admits that "there are conclusive reasons for denying that the son of David wrote it." So that if this question be now brought to the bar, in order to have it decided whether Solomon wrote the book, then, regard being had to the learning as well as the piety of the witnesses, the majority will be found to be against the popular opinion, and to reject the claims made for him to be considered as the author. ' (To be continued.) *Davidson's Introduc., p. 787. LONDON: PUBLISHED BY M. PATTIE, 31, PATERNOSTER ROW, AND GEORGE GLAISHER, 470, NEW OXFORD STREET. Printed by W. Ostell, Hart-street, Bloomsbury. THE PATHFINDER, A JOURNAL OF PURE THEISM AND RELIGIOUS FREETHOUGHT, THE ORGAN OF INDEPENDENT RELIGIOUS REFORM. OR, AN ENGLISH RECTOR IN SEARCH OF A CREED. CHAPTER III. THE FIRST LESSON OF LIFE. It is interesting to note how differently human beings act who have recently sustained a great domestic affliction, such, for instance, as the loss by death of a child or parent. Some members of a family are completely prostrated -rendered incapable of transacting business, while their brethren and sisters, although in no sense inferior in feeling, enter with coolness into the ordinary concerns of life, as if nothing particular had occurred. The former are said to be possessed of more sensibility, but it is doubtful if, upon the whole, they who are the most excited are not the least painfully impressed. Many who can meet the desk and counter claims, retire into quiet, and secretly abandon themselves to emotions which are powerful to destroy. Such are they who have faces as of iron, with hearts as susceptible as those of the unplighted maiden; they have what Plato called "strong and beautiful souls," and are of that class upon which we may rely for practical assistance in the hours of life's necessity. Among the sorrow-smitten are many who, acting upon principle, will not permit themselves to indulge in the luxury of tears, but are careful to erect strong stoical barriers which shall prevent the outward flow of grief; yet, it frequently happens that, like stout sea-walls of solid masonry, clamped with iron bands, which are borne away by the storm upon its victorious billows, the heart of stoicism is subdued, and its barriers submerged beneath the rising tides of sorrow. Others, delighting to exhibit the intensity of grief, fasten upon old friends, into whose ears they pour the narrative of suffering; anticipating tears of sympathy as their compensation, they look with disgust upon those who pay not in the expected coin; nor do they hesitate to describe them as unfeeling, harsh, and cruel. Many who have cause of mourning, are rendered speechless, and cannot avoid resenting every attempt at condolence as an impertinence; others, who have been remarkable for their silence, become loquacious and loudly demonstraVOL. V. NEW SERIES. VOL, I. 2 A tive; some are rendered hysterically joyous and eloquent, while too many sink into stupor and moroseness, or become exacting and suspicious of all who approach them. They who lay their sorrow to heart, and resolve not only to conquer but to extract strength from it, are few in number. Nor, perhaps, will this be marvelled at when it is remembered that both thought and experience must co-operate to teach, that the seed of sorrow needs quiet and shade to enable it to bear its proper fruit of strength and mental force. Give it but time and silence, and it will not fail to work out its own perfect work. The In the home of the Lesters the sudden death of its mistress had completely unhinged the minds of the inmates, so much so that it is impossible to describe how the first hours of that bereavement were passed through. orphans, and those who gathered round them, were stricken dumb; Jane alone was able to obtain the relief of tears. Occasionally, and especially at first, they were able to persuade themselves that the recent events were but parts of some hideous dream out of which they must soon awake. There was relief in this thought, but as the hours flew by and the house grew busy with the preparations necessary for completing the work of death, this also faded from their minds, leaving only the stern unalterable fact that death had been there to do his worst. Cousin Mary had undertaken the mourning preparations, and Ella the household duties; an arrangement based upon the theory that having something to do would prevent their giving way to grief; an evil which, as they had agreed, for the sake of George, should be carefully avoided. And it was wonderful to see them hold their sorrow in subjection. It is the common belief that the strength of will and power of self-control of man is greater than that of woman; but when the death-storm has burst and spent its fury upon the home, it is woman who first rises superior to its violence, and builds from the ruins a new habitation of blessedness for those who have been saved from its ravages. Even while her heart is wrung by agony she remembers those who are weak, and worketh for their perfect salvation. Lester divided his time between them, but without speaking, save in those signs of woe, which as far surpass language in their power of expressing the soul's deepest emotions as the loftiest poetry surpasses the dullest prose. At odd hours, when tired of watching Ella or Mary at their tasks, he stole away to the little garden-house which had been so tastefully decorated by the pencil of his mother; and there, when as one after another Memory gave back the records of happy hours he had passed by her side, it seemed to be utterly impossible that she, who had been the life of all, could be dead, and was no more to return. At other times he wandered away up the old stairs to the well-known nursery, where in a drawer, the loving one had arranged the toys and puzzle-boxes, the ships and Christmas pieces of his boyhood. Everywhere well-remembered objects met his eye which served to recal memories of the past; but they came draped in such forms as he had never previously seen them wear. She was gone, yet her presence was everywhere; and objects had now become holy which formerly were but earthly and commonplace. It was a sore trial to look upon them, but the worst of all was to sit in the old room and pass the long evenings without hearing that deep, rich voice, which every night, for so many years, had filled it with melodies of soul-stirring power. Doctor Moule called frequently, but saw no fit opening for speech. In other houses he was always ready with language to console and strengthen; but in this all the mourners hid their grief, and kept silent, so that it was impossible to break through their barriers of reserve. He saw into their hearts, but could find no opening through which to pass and administer to their agony. "Ah, yes," said he, speaking loudly to himself, his old habit, and while descending to his carriage on the third morning, after he had been vainly endeavouring to draw them into conversation; "Ah, yes! they have eaten. of the tree of knowledge, and know that they are naked. They are civilised to the highest degree, and like tender hot-house plants the first adverse blast takes half their power of life away; they are refined, but weakened also. Ruder descendants of Adam, like the Watson's children I just now left, can sit down and relieve themselves by pouring forth a sea of tears, but that is denied to such as these. The whole flood of grief is rolled back upon their hearts, where it operates to oppress and shake the foundations of their mental strength. They are capable of higher and purer enjoyments I know, but in the same proportion they are more alive to pain and mental suffering. When I travelled in Switzerland with Colonel Lester and the consumptive poet, who was perpetually talking about the glorious mountain tops being visited by troops of stars and crowned with greater glory, it occurred to me that, in return, they were visited also by ruder storms, and riven by fiercer lightnings than any which descended to the vallies below. It was well said by Celsus that the law of compensation never fails, and it fails not here. . . . But I must see these poor children again. There will come a time for the tide to turn, or burst its banks, and I should like to be there to steer them through it.” Doctor Moule was what the world, in its ignorance, intending to condemn by implication, calls "a practical man," alike the disgust of sentimentalists and the terror of the maudlin. It was useless endeavouring to win sympathy from him for imaginary scenes of sorrow or joy; for, although a gentlemanly listener, he was sure to finish up by asking some question whose only answer involved the demolition of the house of cards which fancy had reared. Fond of facts, he condemned those who composed themselves to sentimental dreaming of sorrows, instead of endeavouring to discover, and then to remove, the sources of real suffering. The authors who occasionally met him in society, had long since concluded that he had no atom of poetry or sentiment in his nature; and yet there was not a gentleman in the Shire of whom it could be more truthfully said that he was both a poet and a man of lively sensibilities. In this case old associations, co-operating with his kindly nature, induced him to desire to render all the assistance in his power, and a favourable opportunity speedily offered itself. On the fourth evening, as if comprehending how heavily the hours would hang upon their hands, he paid them another visit, but succeeded no better in his attempts to win them over to some friendly chat. The ladies could only answer his questions in monosyllables; and George, doing violence to his usual gentlemanly politeness, was content with not speaking, merely moving his head to signify assent or disapproval. Shortly after the Doctor's arrival, the ladies retired for the night; and the sound of their light footsteps had scarcely died away before Lester found himself exposed to a perfect broadside of condemnation, and was called upon to answer charges based upon his "dogged silence, which would pass for selfishness, and inevitably operate to injure his character and disposition." This onslaught operated like an electric shock, inducing him to reply somewhat tartly. I hope, Sir, that my conduct has not furnished you with any justification for those charges, for I cannot consider myself guilty. I am but young, still quite old enough to understand that selfishness is the barbarian vice which in civilized society only survives in low natures, and I would a thousand times rather be laid at once in the grave of my mother than consent to live if I could believe myself capable of becoming its slave. Be assured, Sir," he added, in a milder tone, yet with dignity, "that in thus estimating my conduct you have done me wrong." "Well! well! I hope I have, I hope I have, for it would grieve me sorely to see the son of my old friend give way to that sort of meanness. Still, George, I must say it looks very much like it, very much; and I should be pleased to hear you clear yourself of it in a more specific form, for I shouldn't have hinted it unless you had given me cause.' Lester appeared provoked and astonished, when he confessed himself utterly unable to comprehend what was the overt act, and asked to be informed of its nature. Not a whit unwilling, the Doctor replied. Yes! of course I will; and yet, after all, it is but a waste of breath, for the case is plain enough. Here you sit with those noble-spirited girls, whose hearts are ready to burst, but who are restraining their tears because of desiring to avoid increasing your pain. They have not told me, but I know that it is so; and yet you have no cheerful or any other word for their ears, and no comfort for their hearts. Both of them need brotherly and manful consolation; but instead of supplying their wants, you go up and down the house as silent as the grave, and sit with them as mopishly as if all the grief were yours, and they were bound to furnish consolation. Now, that is what I call selfishness; and if I were as young as you are, I'd endeavour to do them some practical good, even if my own heart should burst during the struggle." "But," interposed the culprit, "you overlook the fact that I am striving my utmost to stifle my own feelings. I have not once given way in their presence; they have not witnessed my tears; and hence I cannot charge myself with having done anything to increase their sufferings." "No, probably not; but you have done nothing to relieve them. What I desire is to see you aiding them in their affliction instead of being a charge upon their generosity. You have no right to grieve their hearts, and so there is no virtue in your abstinence. I am no admirer of negative goodness, for I believe it to be an utter mistake; and of this I was more than ever convinced by a discourse I heard at church last Sunday. It was Dolland who preached, and so, George, you will know that the sermon was a good one, for he always buys his discourses from a first-class writer. He proved that the Hebrews were forbidden to do many things which the heathen were constantly doing, and showed that the grandeur of their system lay in the distinct negative it gave to evil actions; but when he came to speak of doing good, then, as he said, its imperfection was seen; it had to be supplemented with the Thou shalt do.' And that is what men require; they must be informed of what they are to do, as well as of what they are to abstain from doing. Now, the principle upon which you are acting is their imperfect, one-sided, negative one. You don't do the girls any positive harm, but you don't do them the good you might. You are not their tormentor, as you have no right to be, neither are you their benefactor, as you ought to be. And what I want is that you shall try to forget your own trouble so as to be better able to render them a service. And after all is said which can be, that plan pays the best. When I was with your father in the Peninsula we had in hospital a wounded soldier who did |